


A Compass Wouldn't Help at All

by glamaphonic



Series: Variables Unaccounted For [1]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Break Up, Canon Character of Color, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Character of Color, Gen, Interracial Relationship, Meta, Pining, Remarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-21
Updated: 2009-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-03 12:10:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glamaphonic/pseuds/glamaphonic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock has ever been only what he is, and very rarely what he should be. This is becoming increasingly acceptable to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Compass Wouldn't Help at All

**Author's Note:**

> In short: Spock-as-Captain AU. Title from ["Human Behavior"](https://play.google.com/music/preview/Tzj7itqyktlbuh53kpgaasfubx4?lyrics=1&utm_source=google&utm_medium=search&utm_campaign=lyrics&pcampaignid=kp-lyrics) by Bjork.

Once the ship has stopped trembling around them, the crew is quick to settle as well. There is no shortage of work to be done, repairs to be made, as the _Enterprise_ limps back to Earth. Absent warp capability, it is a seventeen hour trip. Accounting for time spent on duty after the distress call from Vulcan and prior to the destruction of the _Narada_, the mission has taken a total of less than twenty-eight hours.

Debriefings are a four-day long affair, carried out in conference halls, offices, and small, sterile rooms that seem more conducive to interrogation than anything else. Spock's attentions are split between his responsibilities in that regard and his attempts to assist his father and the rest of the remaining council members in any way that he can. They organize refugees, memorial services, and plans to preserve both their race and culture. His emotional control should be enough such that he does not require distraction to prevent him from dwelling on his grief. But Spock has ever been only what he is, and very rarely what he should be. This is becoming increasingly acceptable to him. So, he fortifies his mind with census data and lodging arrangements, with ensuring that numerous separate reports, both oral and written, are in perfect agreement and perfectly accurate. He grades assignments from his classes that have yet to recommence. He rarely sleeps.

On the fifth day, he returns to his quarters at the Academy, where he has spent only one night--and even then but partially--since their return to San Francisco. Nyota is waiting for him. They have maintained contact, but little of it has been in person and of any significant length. While the communiques they have managed have not been entirely without benefit to his condition, he has very much desired the private comfort of her sustained presence. Not less for the fact that he knows he will soon be required to relinquish it entirely.

Their messages have contained no such direct statement, but nevertheless were filled with the same resignation that he feels thrumming through her skin when she takes his hand. She has always understood him in a way that he cannot quantify except to acknowledge that it is better than most others he has ever met, and not just in the attempt itself.

Their individual needs cannot possibly be weighed favorably against his responsibility to his species and to their efforts to avoid nothing less than extinction. It does not require discussion because there is only one logical course of action. No argument can be made regarding their relationship, respective careers, or life ambitions that will prevail and so they do not speak at all.

Instead, they undress each other. She presses soft, cool lips to his cheekbone, the tip of his ear, his eyelids. He traces his fingers across her collarbones, down her abdomen, and kisses a path between her breasts. He bridges the gap separating their minds once she has her fingertips pressed into the nape of his neck as she explores his mouth, once her heel is at the small of his back, just before he enters her. The familiar comfort of her thoughts touching his is almost painful for the anticipation of its indefinite absence. But it is not through the meld that he perceives the desolate mantra _last time last time last time_ that drives her as their joining becomes more frantic. That, he sees in her eyes, which she does not close during her climax, and hears in her shuddering breaths, though they never once form a single word.

* * *

During his trip to the _Narada_ Spock quickly deduced the high probability that some time-displaced version of himself had a role in the labyrinthine chain of temporal shifts. That is entirely different, though, from experiencing this fact firsthand.

Spock is at a loss for the appropriate reaction to staring into his own face, so weathered as to be barely recognizable, at hearing his own voice tremble with age and obvious emotion. His other self speaks with unwavering confidence about the friendships that he had and the life that he lived, all couched in the assumption that this is the life that Spock should inevitably live as well. That it is the life that will best serve him. Spock is less than certain of that, and of the things and people in which his alternate self chooses to place his faith, but the fundamental offer is as enticing as any he has ever heard. To be freed just this once from the weight of obligation is an incredible prospect. The opportunity to walk the path, pursue the career, and stand with the partner that he wants is more than he would have hoped to be granted.

Still, when he looks into his own weary eyes, he sees the well-worn grief for a lost life shining in them. Spock thinks, unbidden, that he would never wish to be so old--so hopelessly nostalgic. He thinks of all of the relationships in his life on Earth and in Starfleet that he has regretted not forging or making stronger. He thinks of the nearly crippling pain he still feels at his mother's death. He thinks of Nyota and their premature separation, of how essential she has come to feel.

He thinks of this and entertains the idea that losing it all now will save him from pain 130 years from now--save him from the endless longing for what is gone. Perhaps a century and more of acclimation could leave his ability to keep looking forward unimpeded.

He dismisses the thought moments later.

He cannot bring himself to see a benefit, no matter how small, in so much loss. And he has little evidence that his older self's actions are driven or intensified by the longer duration of his personal connections.

It could merely be that given the chance to do everything over again, in any respect, his other self would change nothing.

Spock is unspeakably grateful for the reprieve his twin has given him. But he was an adolescent the first time he realized that his life was his own, and he has spent his adulthood trying to work out what that means for him. He is still trying. And he has no intention of ceasing to make his own choices now.

* * *

The message from Christopher Pike is waiting on Spock's personal datapadd when he arrives in his office. It is not the first that he has received from Pike since their return. The earlier missive indicated a nebulous desire to speak with Spock. This one is much more explicit about the fact that Pike wishes to discuss Spock's future in Starfleet at his earliest convenience. Spock immediately departs for Pike's office. There are others he must inform of his intentions, but separating his professional and personal priorities is something at which he is long practiced.

The walk is not long, but it still provides Spock time to consider both the nature of the meeting and Pike, himself. Though Spock generally puts little stock in rumors and other hearsay, it is ubiquitously reported in essentially every strata of both social and professional circles that Captain Pike will very soon be made Admiral Pike. Spock allows it some measure of verity on the basis that it seems a reasonable likelihood. And though Pike was unconscious in sickbay for the vast majority of the return trip following his rescue, Spock is certain that he has been privy to every detailed report gleaned from the debriefings of the crew. As such Spock cannot help but wonder whether his most recent commanding officer has been chosen to reprimand him in some manner for his conduct while acting captain of the _Enterprise_.

The lack of disciplinary actions taken with regard to some of the more egregious and publicly-known regulation violations that took place in the course of those 27.72 hours has been another subject of gossip. Despite the foreknowledge all of his questioners had at that point, relating his attack on James Kirk and the surrounding circumstances had been troubling to Spock. Still, he refused to dissemble. He lost control. He allowed himself to be ruled by his anger and, as such, he was at that time and remains willing to accept the consequences of his actions.

The door to Soon-to-be-Admiral Pike's office slides open immediately and the older man nods a greeting at Spock from behind his desk. There is an extra chair off to the side of the room which Spock immediately recognizes as Pike's old office chair, not currently required due to the injuries that have left Pike temporarily wheelchair-bound.

Spock takes the seat directly in front of the desk and is gratified when Pike, having worked closely with Spock for long enough to know better, does not attempt small talk.

"I'm going to cut to the chase because I know you appreciate that. It's barely been three weeks." Pike neither hesitates or pauses, but what he doesn't say still hangs in the air. "We've got less than a quarter of a senior class that we're about to graduate in five days, we lost more ships in a single engagement than we have in the last 70 years, and, to be completely honest, no one is entirely sure how exactly to handle…everything."

"I believe I understand the position in which Starfleet currently finds itself, sir," is Spock's measured reply.

"It's been assumed," Pike soldiers on. "That when this semester closes, you're going to resign your commission and rejoin your people."

"That was, indeed, my _initial_ plan."

The emphasis does not go unnoticed.

"You're saying you've reconsidered?" Pike asks immediately. When Spock nods his affirmation, he can see signs of tension leaving the captain's body. The line of his shoulders becomes less harsh and he leans back in his chair.

"Well, that's a hell of a relief. I was not looking forward to trying to convince you away from that. In fact, I was pretty sure I didn't want to." Spock does not mention that had the extraordinary circumstance that caused him to change his position not occurred, there would certainly have been nothing that Captain Pike, as much as Spock respects him, could have done to dissuade him.

"Would I then be correct in my assumption that this is not a disciplinary meeting?" Spock asks instead.

Pike chuckles, a short bark of such genuine mirth that it curtails Spock's pronounced dislike of being laughed at.

"The admiralty wants you to stay on. Badly," Pike replies. "They're going to give you the _Enterprise_, Spock."

Spock shifts his feet, slides forward in his chair, then realizes what he has done and rights himself. When he speaks it still comes out confused, and he wonders not for the first time if Pike is joking with him in an entirely inappropriate manner.

"Captain?" he inquires, torn between awe and incredulity, seeking an affirmation of the assertion he just heard twelve seconds ago.

"Yeah, that's what they'll call you," Pike says around a smile.

Spock, naturally, does not return the gesture. "My conduct during the mission was not always…as efficient or objective as it could have been."

Spock has always been extraordinary among his peers. He excels in his chosen primary fields and in numerous others besides. He knows that he is an excellent instructor, an exemplary officer, and would be an asset to any starship in the Federation. Further, he is aware that his superiors know this. It is not arrogance, merely acknowledgment of fact. But this is not a show of confidence that he would ever have predicted. As such, he is unsure whether it is surprise, unwelcome self-doubt, or simply objective questioning of the rationality of this decision that gives him pause.

Pike leans forward, resting one arm on his desk. The amused light has left his eyes.

"Spock, you lost your mother, your planet, the vast majority of your species and, according to every report, it still took intentional provocation to make you act as anything less than a model captain. After which, you willingly stepped down and less than an hour after _that_, led a successful away mission to save this very planet at great personal risk to yourself.

"I can't comment on what- failures you may have from a Vulcan cultural standpoint and I wouldn't want to. But I can damn well assure you that not a lick of that makes anyone here think that you are unfit to be a captain."

Spock has no ready response, but Captain Pike does not seem to require one.

"The board wants to see you tomorrow evening," Pike says, sliding a datapadd across his desk towards Spock. "They also want you to have a preliminary crew roster ready. Senior officers and other key personnel at the very least."

Spock looks down at the offering, still silent, his thoughts racing. And when he remains silent, Pike speaks again.

"You can still change your mind," he offers. "And if you do, you have my best wishes. But if you don't, well, you know what's waiting for you."

Spock picks up the padd.

* * *

They wish for him to select his crew drawing heavily from the provisionally commissioned--and soon to be officially commissioned--cadets that were aboard _Enterprise_ during the Battle of Vulcan. He has little qualm with this, they performed admirably under exceptional circumstances. The work of reviewing and evaluating personnel files inevitably puts him in mind of the progress he and Pike had made in the initial selection of the crew of the _Enterprise_ before that was overwritten by the emergency and they were forced to do without many of the transfers they'd been scouting. He attempts to balance some of those experienced officers with the green cadets who have already had their trial by fire.

He arrives at the personnel file marked _Uhura, Nyota (Lieutenant, j.g.)_. They have not spoken since their last night together fifteen days ago. Nyota made quite clear her desire for what she termed a "clean break" and regardless of his own feelings on the matter, and how much he longed to remain in her company until he was no longer physically able to do so, Spock had no choice but to respect the logic of making their parting no more difficult than it had to be. He would never wish to cause her pain. The issue that necessitated their separation has been resolved, but that does not negate the arising of new complications with his unanticipated promotion. He does not know how to broach the situation, though he has thought on it since he left Pike's office hours before.

He does, however, know better than to make the same error twice.

There is no hesitation before he slots her into his nominative roster as Chief Communications Officer.

* * *

The meeting between himself and the Admiralty Board is private. Absent an audience, the trappings are yet remarkably similar to a hearing. This dais is not raised, but Spock still feels the unwelcome sensation of craning his neck to look up at them as strongly as if presently experiencing it. His recollections are more intense these days and float to the surface of his consciousness more readily. Captain Pike is not arranged with the board. Rather, he sits off to the left side of their long table, observing the proceedings.

Admiral Barnett launches into an evaluation of Spock's crew roster, which he transferred to them at 0900 that morning complete and in full. There are few alterations to the roster as a whole. Some are of minor concern, particularly in the areas of medical and tactical, though it is nothing that Spock cannot countenance. But he has also been among humans long enough to recognize the slow build towards a final position anticipated to be unacceptable. From the way that Admiral Barnett talks around it, he has some idea of what they wish for him to alter.

"Lastly, on the subject of your first officer."

Spock takes little pleasure in being right.

"I would be quite willing to proceed with any of the listed candidates should the board wish to offer a recommendation," Spock offers. It is not a concession. All three candidates are fine officers and highly likely to immediately accept a transfer to the _Enterprise_. All three would be nearly equally acceptable.

"We would strongly recommend…a different direction," Admiral Barnett says.

Spock considers for four seconds. "Explain."

The admiral levels a meaningful look at him. Spock does not find it impenetrable, but he does find it an inadequate means of communication.

"We see that Cadet Kirk is not listed among your prospective crew," Admiral Barnett finally says.

"I was, and remain, uncertain as to Cadet Kirk's academic standing."

It is not an untrue statement, but it is a misleading one in two respects. First, Spock's degree of uncertainty regarding what will become of his accusations regarding James T. Kirk's method of passing the _Kobayashi Maru_ simulation is negligible. He does not know for a fact, but he has more than enough information through which to arrive at a probable conclusion. Second, the statement deliberately fails to answer the implicit question in the admiral's observation. It is disingenuous to take advantage of humanity's assumption that Vulcans are unlikely to understand the indirect conversational techniques that seem fundamental to the human species.

Spock does not care. If this is to be their command, then he would have them say so directly. He recognizes pique in his actions and the old urge to rebel. This, as well, he dismisses.

"There's been…a lot of discussion with regard to Cadet Kirk. But that ruling's going to come down tomorrow. We're going to clear him. And at commencement, we're going to give him a commendation right along with yours and the rest of the acting senior officers on board that ship."

"Understood." He considers other things that he might say, sundry arguments to be made against this course of action, but it is clear that everyone present is well-aware of the implications of what they are instructing.

"Give him a post, Mr. Spock. He more than proved himself and Starfleet, the Federation, we need all the heroes we can get right now." Admiral Barnett fixes him with another significant stare. "'The needs of the many…' that's how it goes, right?"

"Correct," Spock replies. Behind his back, he grips his left wrist more tightly than is necessary or comfortable.

* * *

"Were you aware that my command of the Enterprise would be partially contingent upon the selection of officers who would provide an appearance that the board believed to be beneficial to public perception?"

Captain Pike does not even blink as he looks up at Spock, who has been standing still as a statue in the foyer of the assembly building for the previous twenty-six minutes, waiting for him. Pike's attendant stands some yards away at the door to the hall from which they have just departed, clearly instructed to wait as Pike maneuvered his chair towards the foyer. This confrontation is expected, which itself goes a long way towards answering Spock's question.

"It's the _Enterprise_, Spock," Pike replies. "Even when it was mine politics had a hand in the appointments. That didn't mean that any of our selections were wrong."

Internally, he protests the irrationality. A society where all progression is based on merit, and merit alone, is the only logical one. But that is an underpinning of Vulcan society and, on Vulcan, no matter how hard he worked--no matter how much better he was than his peers--all of Spock's achievements were inevitably framed through the lense of his 'disadvantage.' It is one of the reasons why he is here in the first place.

He says nothing.

"Jim Kirk is going to be a damned fine officer."

As an attempt to reassure, it is lacking. Spock tries to calculate how much of this assertion is based on Pike's peculiar attachment to Kirk, how much on the fact that Kirk personally saved Pike's life, and how much on Kirk's actual--and, Spock must admit, not insignificant--merits as an officer. He can reach no sound figure.

So he says, "At this juncture, it is in my best interest to hope that you are correct in your assessment."

* * *

Spock is preparing his dinner when the door to his quarters slides open. There is only one person besides himself who has an access code to enter his apartment, so he should not be surprised when he looks up from the kitchenette and sees Nyota standing in the threshold. Even less so given his telepathic sensitivity to her presence. Still, he is surprised, and he is also nearly unsuccessful at hiding the emotion. Her hair is swept away from her face in a trail of tight braids up to the crown of her head and then left to fall loose down her back. Tiny silver leaves suspended from fine chains dangle from her ears. The faint sound of them clicking together when she cocks her head at him makes the back of his neck tingle.

How much he misses her strikes him like a physical blow.

Spock sets down the knife with which he was slicing carrots. He wipes his hands on the nearby towel before stepping away from the kitchenette and into the living area.

Nyota's eyes are soft with sadness, but her mouth is drawn tight with anger. She does not leave him to parse this alone.

"Were you really just not going to say a word to me until I reported for duty?" she asks. She gestures at him as she does so, and there is a datapadd in her hand. Along with the dismissal of the charges against Kirk, the board also sent out the graduating cadets' assignments today.

"It has been less than 72 hours since I made the decision to remain in Starfleet," he responds. There is no need for him to move more closely to her, but he does so anyway. Three steps and he could reach out and touch her. "I had not yet determined the…appropriate course of action with regard to our relationship. In deference to the nature of our parting and the desires you expressed therewith, I did not wish to disturb or possibly cause you distress before I was certain."

"You didn't want to-" Nyota pauses and takes a deep breath, abandoning her emphatic repetition. "Spock, you let me keep thinking that I was never going to see you again for three days after you knew that wasn't the case. _That_ disturbs me. _That_ causes me distress."

He takes another step towards her, concerned, hands at his sides. Nyota moves back, maintaining the distance between them. She does not become exasperated with him often. Not in any significant way. This is. He does not enjoy it.

Spock has no explanations for his actions other than the obvious, which he is certain that she already knows. Yet, she is not reacting as if she is aware or as if it matters. He can see no other option than to explain as best he can.

"I apologize, Nyota. But as captain," he begins. "I will be held to different rules and standards than I would were I any other officer. Starfleet regulations state-"

She raises a hand towards him. It is a quick, sharp movement and, unbidden, he contrasts it with the vivid memory of that same hand offered in invitation.

"Stop," she commands harshly. "Please, just- stop. I _know_ what Starfleet regulations say."

He squares his shoulders and clasps his hands behind his back. "Then you accept my reasoning for refraining from contact prior to having arrived at an acceptable solution."

"No, I don't."

His brows draw together and he can feel the corners of his mouth turning down. She is angry at the delay, this is clear. Any pleasure he might have anticipated or even, he will admit to himself, hoped for at the news that they are not to be physically separated seems to hold no sway when pit against what he would deem a minor inconvenience. She is aware of his motivations, logically-sound as they are, but rejects the actions to which they led him. Yet, he has always known her to be a rational being.

"I do not understand," he concludes.

He wants to very badly, but the way that she looks at him does not give him the impression that she has ascertained this. He is unsure if she, this once, cannot read him or if she merely does not care to any longer. The latter possibility sends cold tendrils of fear creeping through his mind. They mix with his grief and his longing in a manner that is more unpleasant than he thought possible.

"Right now," Nyota says. "I'm going to need you to figure that out yourself."

She turns to leave, padd still clutched in her hand.

"Nyota," he calls after her, his voice far less modulated than he intended.

She stops and turns to face him once more.

He begins to move towards her, but reconsiders. He takes a stuttering half-step, an uncharacteristically inefficient motion. It gets him nowhere, so he speaks instead, giving voice to the dominant thought in his mind since she walked through the door.

"I-I am…unhappy with the termination of our personal relationship."

The corners of her mouth twitch upwards, but he does not believe that she is pleased.

"Me too," she responds before disappearing back through the door.

* * *

"Your inspirational valor and extreme dedication are inkeeping with the highest traditions of service and reflect utmost credit to yourself, your crew, and the Federation."

Admiral Barnett smiles as he pins the medal to Spock's uniform.

"In honor of which, I present you with this commendation. Under Starfleet order 2855, report to Admiral Pike, USS Enterprise, for duty as his relief."

The medal, as it hangs, is nearly undetectable, its weight almost wholly imagined. Spock turns a sharp forty-five degrees and takes six crisp steps towards Admiral Pike.

"I relieve you, sir," Spock says.

"I am relieved," Pike responds. His hands rest on his knees. "Congratulations, Captain."

Spock nods. Applause ripples through the room. Cadet Kirk seems contained, his smirk almost rueful. Three people down from him, Spock is surprised by the genuine pleasure shining from Nyota's face. He immediately disregards the fanciful notion that it is directed towards him and not towards her own accomplishments and those of the rest of her remaining classmates. There are an abundance of underclassmen in the assembly hall, present only to fill seats. Spock's eyes cast about further and are drawn to the very back of the room as if of their own volition.

Up on the balcony, the gray-haired figure's expression is unfathomable.

* * *

It takes nine days for Kirk to disobey his first order.

The anomaly is part mechanical and part…something else. It initially appears to be little more than a collection of debris, the extraterrestrial junkyard of the nearby populated system. But when the _Enterprise_ gets too close, the broken bits of hull and depleted warp nacelles begin to shift until they are like unto long curving arms, drawing the ship closer. An energy field of indeterminate origin flares up and their warp capability blinks out, smothered. Lieutenant Sulu struggles to reverse their course with thrusters alone, but has little success against their slow drag towards the anomaly's center. Now visible past the thick layers of obfuscating refuse, it pulses, bright and massive.

"Captain," Nyota calls with sudden urgency. "There's a subspace signal coming from the…core. At first I thought it was just interference, but-" She tilts her head, favoring the left side where her comm bud is inserted, a familiar posture of concentration that Spock has always found charming despite the fact that it logically does not benefit her hearing at all. "There's a uniform pattern. It has- cadence, sir."

"Are you proposing, lieutenant, that this anomaly is speaking--that it is a living being?"

She purses her lips. "I don't know, sir. I can't be sure."

Spock is considering this when Sulu slams his hands against the helm in frustration.

"We're not moving under our own power at all anymore, sir," he reports. "Whatever's animating all of this trash, holding it together, our thrusters aren't strong enough to push back."

The chatter of the various bridge officers communicating back and forth, receiving and transmitting systems reports from all parts of the ship, is a dull hum at the back of Spock's consciousness.

"Mister Kirk, status."

Spock's first officer grimaces at his tactical station.

"Shields are holding, but there's no knowing what'll happen if we get sucked into that thing. Photon torpedoes are locked." Kirk's hands hover over the controls, barely waiting for confirmation.

"Hold fire," Spock orders evenly.

"We have to do something! If not we'll-"

"Much as there is no way that we can be certain what will happen if we are dragged into the center of the anomaly, we cannot be certain what effect a photon detonation will have on the anomaly. And that is without considering the possibility that it may be sentient. _Hold your fire_, Mister Kirk."

Kirk's stare is hard, but Spock is unmoved.

"Ensign Hadley," he continues, swiveling his chair to the face the science station. "You have full spectrum analyses of the energy signature do you not?"

"Yes, sir," she replies, blonde hair whipping as she spins to look at him.

"Are you capable of recalibrating the deflector shield polarity counter to those readings?"

Understanding immediately dawns on the ensign's face as she nods. "That could make it act as a repulsor for the debris that's encasing us. Yes, sir! I can also redirect some power from the thrusters to strengthen the field."

"Do so, please."

Spock presses the comm button on his armrest as the ship suddenly shudders.

"Engineer Scott, report."

"She's still not responding, Captain!" comes Montgomery Scott's heavily accented voice. "Whatever this thing is, it's not just dampening the warp core anymore. It's starting to leech our energy stores."

As if on cue, the ship shakes again, this time more violently. Enough so that Spock is nearly thrown from his chair. Gasps, yells, and thuds around him make apparent that he is not alone.

"Captain, our movement towards the center mass of the anomaly is accelerating exponentially!" Ensign Chekov reports just as Spock says, "Red alert. Everyone remain at your stations."

The bridge is washed in blinking red as the sound of screeching metal rings through the air.

"The field is constricting. It's going to force all this junk to breach the hull!" Kirk asserts, but Spock is only half-listening.

"Ensign Hadley!" he demands.

"Almost there, sir," is her reply, her brow furrowed in concentration as her hands fly over the controls.

The ship shakes again.

He does not speak loudly, but Spock picks up Kirk's protest nevertheless: "It's taking too long."

When he yells "Firing torpedoes!" however, everyone hears.

Colors ripple along the surface of the anomaly at the points of impact. Lights flare as those bits of the mass sink in on themselves. Nyota gasps in pain and when Spock looks she's snatched the comm out of her ear, wincing. The anomaly dims, then burns brighter than ever as it explodes with light. A shockwave heads directly for them as the trash cocooning the _Enterprise_ falls away.

"Mr. Sulu-" Spock begins.

"On it, sir," Sulu responds absently, his attention focused entirely on the controls. The ship keens, cants, and nineteen silent seconds pass before it levels out in open space.

"Rear view," Spock orders.

The viewscreen switches instantly back to the anomaly. Or where it had been. The tightly packed nest of ship parts and scrap has been thoroughly scattered. Pieces spin out alone into space, dying currents of energy running along their surfaces.

"Stand down red alert," Spock mutters as he rises. The bridge shines, pristine white, once more. Spock faces Kirk's station, his stare unwavering.

"I ordered you to hold your fire, Lieutenant. You could have set off any number of unpredictable chain reactions."

"But I didn't. And the ship was about to be destroyed, _Captain_," Kirk sneers, standing himself.

Spock maintains his control. "Your hyperbole is unnecessary and your argument invalid. The situation was being addressed."

"We were a little stretched for time if you didn't notice."

Spock turns and retakes his seat. "Your services will not be required for the rest of the shift, Lieutenant Kirk. Lieutenant Masters, please relieve him."

Masters nods and mumbles a rote "yes, sir" as she slides into the chair that Kirk has just vacated.

Spock doesn't watch as Kirk strides off of the bridge.

He is one of few.

* * *

When alpha shift ends, Spock summons Kirk to his ready room. The other man enters apparently in no better mood than he was hours earlier. Spock steeples his fingers as he rests his elbows on his desk, but Kirk does not wait for him to speak.

"I made a judgment call."

Spock very nearly fights a losing battle against scoffing. "As your commanding officer was present and my judgment in no way impaired, such an action was neither required of you or welcome, which was made clear when I gave you a direct order against it."

Kirk eyes him and crosses his arms, leaning back in his chair.

"Why did you even pick me as your XO?"

Spock pauses at the sudden change in tactic.

"I do not see how that is relevant to this discussion."

"Oh, it's relevant," Kirk says and he does, in fact, scoff. "You don't even like me, so why the hell did you pick me?"

"Under this rationale, one might pose the question of why you accepted given that you clearly are not especially fond of me either."

"It's the _Enterprise_," he says and shrugs.

It strikes Spock as odd that that could be the answer to so many questions.

They sit in silence, both considering, though Spock has few guesses about what exactly Kirk is thinking. When Spock does speak, he measures his words carefully.

"Besides being firmly against the most basic of regulations, strife between the ship's captain and first officer is hurtful to both crew cohesion and the efficient operation of the ship in question."

"Yeah. It's a bitch isn't it?" Kirk agrees.

* * *

Every two days, Spock makes a point to take at least one meal in the mess. The table that he chooses offers an unobstructed view of the door and three-quarters of the rest of the room. He nods acknowledgment at crewmembers who meet his gaze.

Traditional Starfleet instruction regarding creation of an optimum shipboard environment holds that a captain must stand apart from their crew, but not entirely. Their behavior should ideally command respect and awe, while also maintaining the perception that they can be appealed to directly for support should it ever be required.

To be detached, yet accessible is a very human sort of contradiction but, in this case, there is an underlying logic. A captain must know their crew. When dealing with species lacking emotional control this knowledge is insufficient if it is limited entirely to their professional capabilities. Realistically, those professional capabilities will not be all that influences their work.

Traditional instruction also holds that the ship's first officer is vital to the captain with regard to this process.

By regulation, the first officer operates as the primary arbiter for most personnel matters onboard ship. Following this, and without the weight of the captain's position, they are better equipped to gather more detailed and extensive information. But Spock's situation is not traditional and he does not have the benefit of anything but his first officer's most basic and grudging cooperation. He has no delusions that Jim Kirk will ever arrive in his office to provide him unofficial reports on personnel in order to assist him in increasing his knowledge of his crew. So Spock does what he must himself.

Though his ability to understand the ins and outs of human behavior has always been somewhat limited, his observational skills are unmatched. As such, he watches. Spock watches and keeps a mental catalogue of things that he perceives but of which he cannot discern the full significance. He knows that there yet more subtleties that evade him entirely, but the effort itself is a learning experience. He sees rivalries, friendships, and probable assignations.

He sees that Ensign Chekov experiences some measure of discomfort if Lieutenant Sulu or Ensign Koothrapali from Stellar Cartography are not among those present when he is in the mess. This, Spock determines, is likely contributed to Pavel Chekov's youth and will solve itself once the young navigator has opportunities to become better acquainted with other members of the crew.

He sees the manner in which Nurse Christine Chapel often regards Doctor McCoy and the fact that on some occasions when the doctor notices her eyes on him she only seems to stare harder, challenging. Which of them looks away first changes almost daily. Spock is uncertain whether this is something that will be relevant to the performance of their duties, but determines that he should monitor the situation nevertheless.

He sees the obvious anxiety in Ensign Hadley's bearing when she becomes the first person to take a seat at his table with him and attempt to engage him in conversation. She asks after possible adjustments to her console. Not an official request, as of yet; merely an inquiry as to his opinion. He offers it, and a few other suggestions besides, and though she does not remain for the entirety of the meal, he considers it a triumph. Moreso when others slowly begin to follow suit.

He sees that crewmembers who join Jim Kirk's table, on those occasions when he is present, do not also stop to speak with Spock immediately before or after doing so. He is put in mind of references Nyota made to her primary education and the lines invisible, yet understood, inevitably drawn in school cafeterias. Nonetheless, while Spock does not fear he is in danger of being declared excessively approachable by any member of the crew, he believes that he has been successful in establishing they that they can come, if necessary.

He tries not to see Nyota, but finds that there is little that he can do to prevent it. He senses her presence and his eyes inevitably follow his mind's preoccupation. They were never bonded, but their closeness, both physically and emotionally, had its consequences. Frequent melding, particularly of the sort in which they engaged, can create a connection. Spock doubts that Nyota feels it. She is not psi-sensitive and further, he imagines that if she did experience a similarly heightened awareness of him, she would have requested that he do something to undo it after the final dissolution of their relationship. If nothing else, she has proven to be disinclined towards reminders of what they were.

It is frustrating and there is a knot of dread within him that meditation seems incapable of banishing. He perpetually anticipates the day when his observations lead him to consider the probability of a romantic connection between her and some other crewmember. Even barring that, he does not wish to see new relationships that she is forming in her life without him.

She sits with Christine Chapel approximately 83% of the time. On more than half of those occasions they are joined by Lieutenants Masters and Sulu, and Ensigns Chekov and Hadley. An assorted collection of other bridge officers and crewmembers from both the communications bay and engineering are present at varying intervals. If Nyota notices the frequency with which he watches her, she does not acknowledge it. Even when members of her group speak directly with him prior to joining her, Nyota does not discuss him that he can discern. When they were engaged in their relationship, such public and casual discussion on her part is not something he would ever have desired. Now, he craves it, if only to present him with some manner of data about her state of mind.

Her work is as efficient and exemplary as ever and whatever feelings she may or may not have do not seem to factor at all into her ability to follow his command. Once, after presenting her internal communications reports for the day to him, she pauses in her departure only to gaze at him for a long moment before earnestly informing him that he is "doing a good job." No other such overtures follow and Spock does not know whether to interpret it as personal or professional encouragement.

Spock has turned the original conundrum of their positions over in his mind again and again and knows that he will never arrive at a more suitable resolution than he has. But every time he attempts to speak to Nyota about it, she is unreceptive. On three different occasions, she accepts his request to converse with her privately. On all three occasions, she listens to him only long enough for him to begin elucidating on his proposed solution before she interrupts him. It appears to be neither out of outright anger or impatience. She addresses him firmly by his rank and they both understand that this immediately, unavoidably and non-negotiably, brings a close to any personal discussion in which he is attempting to engage.

There is something that she wishes to hear from him that he is not saying, he comes to understand. Unfortunately, he does not come to understand what that something is.

In the greater scheme of his captaincy, these failures with regard to his erstwhile lover affect his work no more than they affect hers. But for all of the challenges of his job--most of which he actually finds stimulating--and the progress he makes towards becoming a better officer and a better leader, Spock knows that work alone ceased to be enough for him years ago.

When all is said, his command is solitary and he has become too well acclimated to sharing his life. His fears about his other self are ever-present in his thoughts, and he wonders if some things truly are unavoidable.

* * *

Spock does not inquire about what his double told Kirk regarding the alternate timeline--or their alternate lives--while they were on Delta Vega.

Kirk offers no insight into the matter.

* * *

When the away mission to Rigel V goes awry, it is very likely the fault of either Lieutenant Kirk or Spock himself. Spock will admit that he was more distracted by his intention to outperform Lieutenant Kirk in their diplomatic negotiations than he should have been, thus allowing duplicity that he would normally have foreseen to pass beneath his notice. He knows that Kirk too is generally more keenly observant than he had been in this instance. However, after a heated phaser battle, a transporter failure, an extended chase, multiple injuries, and the entire five person team hiding in a cave outcropping far too small to comfortably fit them all, neither of them appears inclined to argue about blame.

When they are finally beamed back aboard the _Enterprise_, Spock is leaning heavily against Kirk, one arm around his shoulder as the other man attempts to support Spock's weight. Spock tries to step forward towards the edge of the transport pad and stumbles, dizzy from blood loss. Kirk stops him from tumbling onto the floor. The entire right side of his body aches, an excruciating pain, rippling out from his shoulder. Spock closes his eyes and breathes deeply, concentrating, centering himself, detaching himself from the sensation.

Nyota's voice rings out, mildly strained but firm, from the nearby console. "Transporter Room One, report."

"All aboard, Lieutenant," the technician replies and Spock is displeased at being unable to remember his name at the moment. "Some wounded, but no casualties…"

Spock watches the anonymous transport technician eye the copious amounts of green blood staining the sleeve and chest of his gold uniform jersey and knows that he is not the only one who hears the unspoken 'yet' at the end of the report.

There is a slight pause before Nyota replies.

"Acknowledged," is all she says and the connection cuts out. That is as well, Spock decides as Doctor McCoy and members of his medical staff rush into the room. The high chance of pursuit means that Nyota has far more pressing concerns at the moment.

Spock loses consciousness just as Doctor McCoy begins to berate anyone in earshot about the failure to initiate an emergency transport directly to sickbay.

The first time Spock regains consciousness the searing pain in his shoulder has significantly receded and the many other minor aches are entirely gone. McCoy is adjusting the settings on his biobed and Spock must endure 4.2 minutes of ranting about "unnecessary risks" and the ironies of "foolhardy Vulcans" mixed in with his prognosis--full recovery expected in a few days. The doctor also handily denies him the opportunity to request any reports or updates about the current status of the ship and crew.

"Everyone's fine, but you. That's all you need to know," he says gruffly and then administers a sedative in what Spock feels is an overly aggressive manner.

It does its work nonetheless.

When Spock next wakes, Jim Kirk is sitting beside his bed, arms crossed and legs stretched out. All signs of his own far more minor injuries appear to be gone. His posture barely changes when he addresses Spock.

"How's the shoulder?" Kirk asks, tone neutral.

Whatever palliative Doctor McCoy provided earlier is not nearly as effective as it once had been. Still, very few things would not be an improvement over the time during which he had yet to receive any treatment at all.

"Vulcans are trained in various pain management techniques. It is bearable."

"Well, Bones'll take good care of you." Kirk's mouth only barely turns up at the corners. Spock is unsure whether to deem it a smile and even more unsure of what exactly has prompted this reaction.

"Indeed," he says carefully. "I do not doubt the doctor's medical acumen. He informs me that I will be ready for full duty in a few days."

"I know." Kirk replies. Spock wonders if Doctor McCoy routinely shares confidential patient information with Kirk, but saves that query for another time.

Silence stretches out for twenty-one seconds, which Spock suspects could be termed "awkward" by human standards. But Kirk appears mildly agitated and very thoughtful, thus giving Spock the impression that there is something more that he wishes to say. Ultimately, he does not disappoint.

"Look," Kirk begins. "Thanks for what you did down there. I haven't exactly given you much reason."

Spock raises his left eyebrow curiously. "I am unsure as to what you are referring."

Kirk frowns. "You were covering me when you took that hit."

Spock's memory is not yet as keen as usual due to the combination of injury and medication, but he knows this assertion, at least, to be factually accurate.

"True," Spock agrees. "I was ensuring my crew's safety. However, as that is my job, it is not necessary for you to thank me. It should also be noted that you are not required to give me reason to do my job and that it is unlikely that you will ever provide me with reason not to do so." Ever again, at any rate.

Kirk nods his head in a slow, exaggerated fashion that Spock doubts is indicative of genuine agreement.

"Right," Kirk replies, drawing out the vowel sound. There is another short silence before he continues. "You'd think I wouldn't, but sometimes I forget how well you can handle yourself in a fight."

Spock considers an appropriate manner in which to respond to this questionable compliment, but Kirk speaks again before he has the chance to give voice to anything.

"Here," Kirk says, standing as he holds out a datapadd. "Everything from the last twelve hours."

Spock accepts the padd with his good arm and immediately turns his eyes to the scroll of contents. It is an exhaustive set of systems and departmental reports since the beginning of their away mission.

"Your thoroughness in compiling this is appreciated."

"It's not necessary to thank me for doing my job," Kirk replies archly, then shrugs. Spock watches him in silence as he takes a step away from the chair and the biobed. "Well, I've got an extra shift to pick up since the captain is currently indisposed. You rest up."

"I will attempt to do so," Spock says to Kirk's retreating back.

* * *

When Nyota enters sick bay, Spock is reviewing the internal communications log from the time period during which he was off of the ship. He recognizes the rhythm of her footsteps and the faint pull at the back of his mind. Her movement towards his biobed is slow, but steady and he finds her expression unreadable until she has come to stand just beside him.

Nyota gazes down at him and he sees tenderness, affection, and compassion. All as if from the still-painful memories of when they were a constant part of his life. He wishes to speak, but he finds himself struck silent by the way she is regarding him. She reaches out, her hand grasping his wrist as she induces him to lower the padd into his lap. It is a struggle to maintain his mental barriers, but he does so. She would not welcome such an intrusion on the privacy of her feelings in this moment.

"You're supposed to be resting," she says mildly.

"I do not believe that reading qualifies as physically taxing," he responds.

She smiles, all the brilliance of a new dawn. She has not removed her hand from his wrist. He makes a noble attempt to gather his thoughts. Pain, drugs, fatigue, and now Nyota wear on his control. He only has so much energy to devote to combating each distracting effect.

"You performed quite admirably today," he manages.

She offers only a nod in acknowledgment.

"How are you feeling?" she asks. She tilts her head as she looks at him, the turn of her mouth indicating her desire for a wholly truthful response. She knows well his tendency towards omission when there is something that he does not think it would be appropriate to express. She also knows that this does not preclude him from a desire to express it nevertheless. Nyota asks him how he feels, not by rote, but because she wishes to know and she has an often-uncanny sense of when he wishes to tell her.

"The wound is painful, but less so than before. I am- tired." He studies her face and her hand slides away from his wrist. She toys idly with the red, crystal, teardrop earring dangling on a golden hook from her right ear, the first sign of hesitance on her part--of lack of surety.

He pushes. "Your presence has been beneficial to my mood."

He waits. Nyota purses her lips as she stares at him, emotion quivering in the line of her mouth. Her eyes shine. She closes them and takes a shallow breath before peering once again into his eyes.

"You are not allowed to die." Her voice is rough, the tone hauntingly familiar. It does not seem as though it has been months since they parted in the transporter room, believing that it would be for the last time, but hoping otherwise.

"While it is always my goal to survive any conflict and generally remain in good health, death is an inevitability. Neither of us can control or ord-"

"Nope." She cuts him off in mid-word and he snaps his mouth shut when he sees her expression and her clenched fists. She will not accept argument or correction. "This time, I don't need your input," she says.

Nyota reaches out with her hand again and her fist unfurls. She just barely presses the tips of her index and middle fingers against the corresponding fingers on his right hand. The heat that blazes between them across the tentative connection is stunning, the bright flame of her devotion overwhelming. Her feelings have not changed and she wishes for him to know so. Spock wants to reach for her, but in the time between thought and motion, she has turned and walked away.

He considers her actions for three minutes. Then, he considers her words and finally understands.

* * *

The remainder of Spock's stay in sick bay is uneventful. Nyota does not visit him again. Kirk stops by regularly over the course of two days. Between shifts, he continues to bring Spock compilations of ship's reports. His stays are short and he says little, but Spock understands that there is an overture inherent in this attention. He cannot quite call it friendly. There is too much of an edge to Kirk still, something of which they are both aware but refuse to name or confront standing between them. But it is not the aggression that was there before.

Spock is put in mind of old Terran literature about war, bands of brothers and comrades in arms. They are on an exploratory mission, but the nature of the dangers they so regularly seem to face cannot be denied; neither, it seems, can the impact this has on them.

A round of applause greets Spock when he returns to duty on the bridge. Such an emotional display is not an entirely professional reaction, but he does not reprimand them.

Immediately at the conclusion of his shift, Spock proceeds to Nyota's quarters. She meets him at the door, standing on the other side as it slides open. Her hair is down and she is attired for bed, or at least for a night in. She wears dark gray sweatpants partially obscured by an oversized Starfleet Mathletics t-shirt that he is reasonably certain originally belonged to him.

"Nyota," he says.

"Come in," she replies and steps aside. He obeys.

Steam floats up from a cup of tea set on a side table. A padd perches on the arm of the adjacent chair. Both chair and table are pushed into a corner of the room, facing away, as far off from the rest of the small space as possible. The furniture is standard for crew quarters, but the arrangement is Nyota's. She had created a similar space in his own quarters back in San Francisco. Or rather, after determining that constant and inevitable moving and then replacing of furniture was inefficient, Spock created it for her. He preferred to work at a desk, and a chair or couch was all he required for any recreational reading or writing. Nyota enjoyed what she referred to as her "bubble" more than other alternatives.

They had often discussed the meditative qualities of self-defined spaces. Once, she told him of moving when she was a young child, from a "sleepy, little town" to Mombasa, one of the most populous cities in the African Confederacy. She came to love the city, but early on creating a bubble--an endeavor that initially involved kitchen chairs and bedding fashioned into a primitive tent--was the only way she could find to gather her thoughts surrounded by all the city noise. Nyota had laughed self-deprecatingly about exactly what thoughts a six-year-old needed to gather. Spock, considering the woman before him, had found it entirely reasonable and said so. Nyota smiled as she confessed that she had long since developed the ability to concentrate, and fully, without such trappings--Spock found this self-evident--but that she still took great comfort from them.

"Is there something you want to say?" Nyota asks, shaking him from his reverie. Her posture is familiar from the three previous incidents, arms crossed under her chest and eyes shrewd.

This time, however, Spock knows how to begin. "I have determined why, on the night you received your assignment, you did not accept my reasoning for not contacting you immediately upon my decision to remain in Starfleet."

Her stance loosens, softens, and the smallest bit of tension dissipates from Spock's own posture; it is as close as he will come to a sigh of relief.

"You are angry, not because of the undue pain I caused you--for which I am deeply regretful--by allowing you to continue believing that I was resigning from Starfleet, but because I was ostensibly attempting to determine the future of our relationship. And I did not consult with you." He pauses, not to enjoy an irony, but merely to acknowledge it. "It is and was inappropriate for me to bear such a responsibility alone."

Spock does not smile, but he is pleased enough with himself that he could.

Nyota has no such compunctions. Her smile is wry. "And it only took you a month."

"Five weeks, two days, nine hours, and thirty-seven minutes," he offers automatically. "You are well aware this is not one of my fields of expertise."

Nyota uncrosses her arms.

"When you're not naturally gifted at something, it means that you have to try harder." Her tone is not unkind.

"That is acceptable. I do not enjoy repeating mistakes," he says gravely.

"Neither do I."

Doubt swells at the edges of his consciousness. They are still circling each other, the fragile foundation of reconciliation shivering with every movement. Spock longs for stability.

"Vulcans are extremely self-directed by nature," he offers. Further explanation is unlikely to accomplish anything, but it is a reflex. He feels such a strong compulsion to say something to keep her talking and actually engaging with him again. "Logic dictates that a rational conclusion is made no less rational or useful by virtue of having been arrived at independently."

Nyota sighs and sits down on the couch. "I know." It comes out tender enough that he expects an endearment to follow--a habit of Nyota's. The lack of same feels like a distance opening between them.

"That wasn't the only reason, Spock," she admits as she motions for him to join her. He sits down a respectable distance from her, facing her. "I mean, as much as I don't like the way you did it, you were right to want to think it over. You're still the captain and I'm one of your officers."

"While Starfleet regulations do not encourage personal relationships between a captain and his subordinates, a lack of encouragement towards is not logically equivalent to a restriction against. The previous circumstances of our relationship were far more illicit." It is intensely relieving to finally be able to say that to her and know that she is listening.

"I know all of that, but-" She takes his hands in hers. It is the most contact they have had in weeks. The smooth skin of her small hands is cool against his, but that is not the cause of the shiver that goes through him. "There are some people who won't like it. They won't like it and they won't forget. And I'm tired of hiding, Spock."

"I would never induce you to do so." Much as he would never allow hypothetical censure for the violation of a non-existent regulation to keep him from her.

Her eyes search his face and if she is looking for the slightest hint of hesitation or doubt, he knows she will not find it.

She looks down at their joined hands, considering. "It wouldn't exactly be the wisest decision either of us ever made, you know."

"My father once told me that what is necessary is never unwise." The understanding of other things his father has told him, and of his father's wealth of relevant experience, hangs between them.

"Is that what I am?" It is a whisper, low and throaty. "What we are? Necessary?"

"Both necessary and desired," he confirms. Needed and wanted more than he ever allowed himself to consider before she was gone.

Her mouth tastes the same as he remembers. Her lips are softer still as they work against his. His respiration and heartrate have already accelerated, his body immediately making known yet another way in which he has missed her during these interminable weeks.

Nyota's hands come up to grip the nape of his neck as she deepens the kiss and his slide down the thin material of the t-shirt to rest just so on the curve of her hips. She leans backwards and he follows at first, but breaks away, panting, before she can pull them into a recline.

There are sundry different types and categories of relationships in which humans engage, many of them sexual to some degree, but there is only one sort that he wants with Nyota. And he will brook no misunderstanding.

"Am I to assume that you remain dissatisfied with the termination of our relationship?" he asks.

"Beyond belief," she breathes and leans towards his mouth again. She makes a face when he cranes his neck just enough that his mouth is out of range of hers.

"Then we are agreed that we will resume a monogamous romantic and sexual relationship to curtail said dissatisfaction?"

"Honey, yes." She huffs a laugh, her breath sweet and warm on his face. Her fingertips make circles in the fine hairs at his nape, and he picks up something different breaking through the haze of lust and anxious desire. Relief floods through him. She feels that these terms are self-evident. "I plan on being extremely satisfied for the forseeable future."

"I will make every effort to assist you in this endeavor."

* * *

It is inevitable that they are sent to the colony.

Utilizing the flagship for little more than a glorified supply run is not logically necessary, but entirely expected. Not least because of its captain's particular status. It is a symbolic gesture demonstrating the Federation's solidarity with the Vulcan race, a reassurance that they will not be abandoned in their time of greatest need. The Vulcan High Council has reassembled itself as best it could and Spock meets with them as ordained.

His father is cordial and displays no regret over Spock's decision to remain in Starfleet. The other members of the council are far less forgiving, but the majority of Spock's attention is drawn by the quiet consideration of his other self. The elder Spock has no official position on the council, but he is ever-present.

He does not speak to Spock directly moreso than is immediately required of him. It would seem perfectly natural if not for their unique circumstance. What he does, more than anything else, is watch. Spock would chafe under this observation alone, but what bothers him more is the fact that he is not the only one being observed. His other self watches various other crewmembers as well. He says nothing to them, barely approaches them as far as Spock sees, but Spock bristles at the scrutiny.

Spock was only briefly acquainted with Jim Kirk prior to Kirk meeting his other self, but it is still evident that something changed in Kirk after that meeting. Kirk returned to the _Enterprise_ with new knowledge and a clear purpose and it is not hard to deduce at least some of the motivation behind it. Spock does not like to consider what his other self might try to drive other crewmembers significant to him to do, what vision he might have of their lives. His senior officers are all aware of the split in the timeline, but knowing that an alternate life existed for you and actually being compared to that standard--being made aware of the specifics of that existence--are substantially different things.

Of course, there is little that Spock can do if someone chooses to seek out such information. A frisson of fear runs through him at the thought of Nyota and their recent reconciliation. He cannot begin to imagine what his other self could tell her; he does not want to imagine it. Every option seems equally unfortunate, bringing with it a host of unique anxieties. And though it is doubtful that anyone else's potential discoveries would affect him so directly, Spock cannot imagine that they would be any more beneficial to the people they did involve.

He knows that he cannot stop people from seeking out his other self. But he determines on the third day that he can request that his other self take caution, employ restraint, and not repeat the machinations in which he engaged on Delta Vega.

When Spock goes to the residential building in which the leaders of the reconstruction effort--and thus Vulcan society--are staying, Jim Kirk is on his way out. Their eyes meet and Kirk nods acknowledgment, but continues apace. Spock has no doubt who Kirk has been seeing.

His other self invites him into the modest apartment without comment and offers him a cup of tea, which Spock declines. There is something different about the elder Vulcan since Spock last saw him, though he cannot pinpoint what it is. Indeed, he is not feeling charitable enough to especially want to try. However, it makes itself completely apparent in the long moment that the older man leans over the tea kettle before pouring his own cup. The heavy weight of disappointment is visible in the set of his shoulders.

"It is not what you planned," Spock says.

His other self requires no further elucidation.

"'Planned' is too strong a word," he replies neutrally.

Spock stands straight, hands clasped behind his back, immoveable.

"I have little desire to argue semantics."

The impression of a smile, the slightest turning up of the corners of his mouth, the softening of the lines of the older man's face, is evident.

"We both know that is not true."

Spock does not challenge the assertion. "May I ask with regard to what you were speaking with my first officer?"

His other self sits, carefully lowering himself into a chair in front of the nearby table, exhibiting more weariness than Spock has previously seen from him.

"Jim required some encouragement."

Spock's mouth curves before he can stop it. It is not a smile.

"Should I be concerned about any imminent 'acts of faith'?"

The aura of calm serenity frays around the edges. Spock thinks that if this man were not him in so many ways, he might not have noticed.

"I did what I thought was right. As did he."

"He did what you told him to do," Spock corrects. "And in expectation of the outcome you presented."

The elder Spock nods slowly and takes a long draught of his tea before he speaks again.

"Jim has spoken to you of my timeline then."

"No. I deduced on my own that in your universe James Kirk is captain of the Enterprise, not yourself."

"Not at this juncture, no," he confirms. His voice takes on that familiar wistful quality and Spock's fist clenches instinctively behind his back. "And not in a situation anything like this. Jim was the captain for many years. Great years. And I served at his side, and he led us through things you cannot yet imagine, things it seemed impossible to survive."

Spock finds that he must unclench his jaw before he can speak. "I do not know whether to be insulted by your evident lack of faith in my abilities or merely to consider it indicative of low self-esteem."

"I do not recall being quite so sardonic in my own youth." His gaze is steady.

"Whatever was to be is no longer," Spock says firmly.

"I know that!" his other self says, slamming his cup down with unnecessary force. Spock tilts his head, taken aback, and they both pause as they absorb the outburst.

When the elder Spock speaks again, his voice is still not properly modulated. It is rough and tired, strains of emotion easily perceivable.

"And for myself what simply _was_ is no longer either."

Realization takes hold and Spock's perception shifts. His other self is not just nostalgic or mourning past glory. He is mourning the loss of his entire universe. They, all of them, in this world don't only exist without knowledge of the lives they lived, but with only the most basic and simplistic conception of the other reality at all. It is an idea to them, a theory. To this man, it is a reality; it is his home. Everything that he ever did and was is now displaced from him forever. Spock has his own future to determine, his elder self no longer even has a past.

"It is difficult to look at this world and not see a second chance," he says. "A do-over, as some might say. But you are right. Your world is not mine. I've seen them all." Spock refrains from asking for specifics about to whom he is referring. "It is as though I have woken up surrounded by strangers costumed as those most dear to me and most lost. Disconcerting to say the least. And you…well, I suppose I am by no means the first man who has ever had trouble gazing into the mirror, not entirely certain who was staring back at him."

"I am not your reflection. Nor are you mine. We exist independently of each other. Such is our fate," Spock says. It is true. Though, he sees now, it is not all that is. "But I grieve with thee."

The other man stares at him, their identical eyes meeting, and with the traditional utterance understanding passes between them perhaps for the first time.

"I did leave you to it. I will again."

"I will try, when possible, to follow my heart as I have done since then. More than that, I cannot do. More than that, I do not wish to contemplate." Spock turns, but stops before moving towards the door. "However, if I understand anything about you, I do not believe that you would truly wish for me to do so. Not solely for your sake."

Spock does not look back in an attempt to read his other self's reaction. Whether that is entirely true is something he thinks they would both prefer him not know. Instead he hears only the final benediction, stated with as much sincerity as the first time his twin said it.

"Good luck."

* * *

"Aren't you even curious?" Nyota asks as she pulls her brush through her hair. They are two days gone from the colony, currently in geosynchronous orbit with a previously uncharted planet for which they are completing preliminary surveys. They are also due on duty in forty-three minutes. Prior to their reconciliation, Spock would have been fully prepared for his shift at least a half hour before now. For once, however, he does not mind a decrease in efficiency.

"The existence of curiosity alone does not necessitate satisfying it," Spock responds.

"Maybe not for you."

Spock pauses in his own grooming. Evidently, this is not an idle conversation. "But for you?"

"I saw him," Nyota admits.

Spock watches her, waiting. Her behavior has not significantly changed in any way since they left the colony, but it is entirely possible that something subtle slipped past his notice.

"I didn't speak to him, not at length. But I was _curious_." She smiles and Spock finds it difficult to remain alarmed or anxious. He returns to his preparations.

"Do you want to know?" she asks. He does not need to ask to what she is referring. His hand pauses on the strap of his boot, indecisive. Finally, he nods, assenting.

"We weren't together in his universe," she says. Spock cannot read the emotion behind it, regret or sorrow or acceptance.

"Did he tell you that?"

"He didn't have to. I could tell by the way he looked at me."

"And what way was that?"

"Not like you."

Spock imagines being a century and a half old and forever separated from Nyota, by death or by extraordinary temporal anomalies or by both. He is certain that there would, indeed, be something noticeable about the manner in which he looked at her younger self.

"That is logical," he allows.

"Does it bother you?" Nyota asks after they have continued to ready themselves for a few silent moments.

"No," Spock answers honestly. "I…regret that my other self did not experience the happiness that I have experienced with you, but I cannot know that whatever relationships he cultivated for himself did not also make him content. In either case, we are unaffected by choices made or not made by alternate incarnations of us."

Nyota smiles, but does not offer her own opinion.

"Does it bother you, then?"

She sighs. "It's weird, a little disconcerting but…the way I see it, there was that universe where we weren't together and you weren't captain. Maybe there's another where I never joined Starfleet or you never left Vulcan. Maybe there are some where neither of us exists. The choices I've made have led me here and that's why this is where I belong. After that, it's all academic."

They do not discuss it further, but he grasps her hand briefly in his own when they head towards the door and knows that she feels agreement pass between them.

* * *

When Spock walks into his ready room, Kirk is waiting for him. Spock pauses briefly before continuing to his desk. He sits and arranges himself before speaking.

"Is there something I can help you with, Lieutenant?"

"I was jealous." Kirk says on an exhalation, almost like a sigh.

"Excuse me?"

"I was jealous of you," he repeats. "So, I spent a lot of time being an ass. And while I do think that you need to act a little less like you have the Starfleet regulations tattooed on the insides of your eyelids, mostly, it wasn't about you. This you anyway. So, I'm sorry."

This sits between them, nothing for which Spock was ever waiting, nothing he ever truly expected, but fulfilling a need nonetheless. It also makes clear his own obligations, responses to cues he is still learning to notice and understand. He gives his reply long consideration before working himself up to actually voicing it.

"I have, on occasion, been unduly resentful of you as well," he admits. "I did not always give your input the amount of consideration that it was due and I made little effort to 'reach out to you' as it were. For this, I too apologize."

Kirk eyes widen, confusion plain at receiving an apology of his own, his obvious expectation having been to offer one to dispassionate acceptance at best.

"I have surprised you," Spock observes.

"More and more," Kirk admits, shaking his head. "You know, one of the first things Pike ever said to me was 'I dare you to do better.' Then Old You, he painted this picture where I had, you know. I'd done better than…everyone." Kirk's frustration is plain. This is difficult for him, not just the admission and making it to Spock, but the entire situation weighs on him still. "And this, this ship, being First Officer, it's amazing. But, just my luck, not quite as. It's hard to let that go."

Spock's confusion is genuine. "Why should you 'let that go'?"

"What is that, a job offer? You resigning, Spock?" Kirk asks, voice dry.

"No," Spock replies. "I seek only to point out that based solely upon your own proven skills and abilities, it is illogical to assume that simply because you are not currently a starship captain, you will never be one."

"Huh." Kirk crosses his arms. "That was actually nice."

Spock feels it would not be prudent to point out that he was merely stating fact.

He says, "Nice has variable definitions. When the time comes for you to submit personnel evaluations, I would advise you to employ better diction."

Jim laughs, then grins. For the first time Spock has seen since he made the man's acquaintance, there is no challenge in it.

* * *

"Captain, course is set," Chekov announces as Spock strides onto the bridge when it is time for them to leave orbit.

He takes his seat in the command chair, back erect, gaze focused straight ahead.

"Mister Scott says we're clear," Nyota confirms from behind him. He turns the chair just enough to catch her in his peripheral vision and nods.

"Good to go over here," Jim says, his apt attention on the readouts from his station.

Spock can hear the smile in Sulu's voice when he reports.

"Ready at warp factor three, sir."

"Engage," Spock commands.

Space contracts, then expands, and the entire universe stretches out before them.

**Author's Note:**

> At length: a full commentary for this fic can be found [here](http://community.livejournal.com/shewhohathapen/30852.html).


End file.
